So shalt thou keep thy memory green, And redolent as balmy noon With happiness, for love makes glad; Child-natures never lose their June.
When the L. and N. W. opened its branch from Stockport to Buxton, June 15th, 1863, every one loving the country had visions of immense delight among the sweet and then scarcely known hills of Disley and Marple. Previously, they were no more than an element of the scenery observed from the Buxton coach. Since then we have better understood the meaning of those grateful lines,
You gave me such sweet breath as made The things more rich.
For if the fronts of these beautiful hills be sometimes rugged, there are none that the western breezes better love to caress, nor are there any that welcome the sunshine with a more strenuous hospitality. Disley and Marple count not with the places which the sunshine only flatters; they are always cheerful and pretty, whether it be the hottest day of July, or winter, or spring. Even after a storm, be it ever so vehement, they recover themselves as rapidly as a child's cheek after the tears. How great and affable, too, their landscapes!--how bright their lawn-like pastures, where tricolour daisies bloom all the year round: there are woods moreover, in the recesses, where we may bathe our eyes in the sweet calm that comes only of green shade, and that like the airy summits up above, give at the same moment both animation and repose.
Disley is known to most of us as the first station after Hazel-grove, and the point from which departure is taken for Lyme Park. Intermediately there is a delightful walk, reaching the greater part of the distance, upon the right-hand side of the line, through the sylvan covert called Middlewood. The wood is not "preserved." It is semi-private, nevertheless, so that permission to pass through ought to be asked; it is rare, even then, to hear any voices except our own and those of the birds. Either to ascend, or to proceed by train direct to Disley, and enter the wood at the head, is, in its way advantageous. The latter is, perhaps, the better course, since we then accompany the stream,--one of the very few so near Manchester still unpolluted. The water is the same as that which flows past Bramhall, running thence to Cheadle, where its bubbles swim into the Mersey. Middlewood, unfortunately for its primitive charm, has recently shared the fate of Gatley Carrs, so that the path is now very inconveniently obstructed, and the Bramhall part of this pretty brook, instead of being the inferior, is to-day, perhaps, after all, the most pleasing. Comparisons may be spared. The meadows it traverses were never wanting in any substantial element of pastoral charm, and if a thing be good absolutely, what need to ask for more? The way to them is _viâ_ Cheadle Hulme, then to Lady Bridge, as far as Bramhall-green, there crossing the road, and stepping anew upon the grass, where the path returns to the water-side. Hence, we go on to Mill-bank farm, told at once by its three great yews, and for the return may take Hazel-grove.